


I'm A Superman Thanks To Lois Lane

by mammothluv



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mammothluv/pseuds/mammothluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cop, her writer, and six comics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Superman Thanks To Lois Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Castle belongs to ABC and the the show's creators. Title comes from the song "Superman" by Robin Thicke. I'm not making any profit and no copyright infringement is intended.  
> This is for lone_lilly who shares my Castle/Beckett/geekiness OT3. Many thanks to lytab5 for the fabulous beta work.

**Avengers #1**

An unexpected large white envelope delivered by courier causes a flash of anxiety before Kate recognizes Castle’s neat handwriting on the outside.

She opens the envelope and pulls out a bagged and boarded copy of Avengers #1 which, upon closer examination, appears to be in near mint condition.

A small post-it on the front of the bag reads simply: _Avengers Assemble!_

She remembers his visual aids from their last case. Her awe, fingers itching to reach out and pull each and every comic book, especially this one, off the board to read it.

 _“You have Avengers number one?”_

But they were on a case and Gates was breathing down their necks so that one mention had been Kate’s only indication of how excited she was.

She should be accustomed to it by now. She isn’t. The small moments he notices and acts on, his writer’s attention to detail keenly focused on her.

She bites her bottom lip as she imagines him scribbling the note, can practically hear the words in his voice. She settles on her couch and carefully opens the bag.

 

 **Avengers #2/Batman #227**

 _There’s a dream. Life slipping from her grasp. They’re in the cemetery, his face fading from her vision. And then it’s dark and she’s paralyzed. She feels nothing but a sharp pain tearing her apart from the inside. Then her vision slips back for just a moment. It’s her mother standing above her this time and Kate wants to reach out, to speak, beg her to stay._

 _Her body doesn’t obey her commands._

 _“You’re on your own, kid,” her mother says._

 _And then nothing._

Almost every night this past summer, Kate would awake in the bedroom of her father’s cabin, drenched in cold sweat, tearing at blankets just to be sure she could still move. Her frantic movements would cause sharp pain in her still healing wounds.

She doesn’t have the dream as often now but she has it this morning.

And her first thought, after countless minutes on the floor of a freezing cold shower, after her heart stops pounding so loudly in her ears that she can’t think anything at all, her first thought is to call him. But she steels herself, gets dressed and goes to work. She does it because she doesn’t want to need him to be okay and because he’d know. She wouldn’t tell him but something in her voice, no matter how carefully she spoke, would give away this edge she’s skating.

He never misses the split seconds between text in their relationship.

But now it’s 7 p.m. And she feels as held together as she ever does these days. She’s just tired and cranky after a day of endless paperwork. And her car doesn’t steer itself home. Instead she drives the familiar route to his apartment.

She doesn’t call first because, even if it is just for a second at the door before he tells her he’s busy, she _wants_ to see him. She won’t say _needs to see him_ even if just knocking on his door brings a wave of something like relief washing over her.

He opens the door and she takes in his disheveled hair, the towel on his shoulder, and the scent of something delicious wafting from the direction of his kitchen.

“You’re busy,” she blurts, a pointless attempt to head off her own disappointment.

“No,” he says quickly and cheerfully, setting her at ease effortlessly. “Not busy. Just dinner. Come on in.” He gestures and she follows him in.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. He’s looking at her like he’s trying to unravel her, searching for something hidden in her recesses.

She bites back a reply that would allow him to do just that, keeps her pain quietly tucked away. Instead she says, “Long day and a lot of paperwork that my partner...” she reaches out one finger here and pokes him lightly in the chest, “never seems to help with.”

He tilts his head just slightly, an almost frown on his face before he decides to let it go. And she has no doubt then, as she sees it play out on his face, that it’s a conscious decision on his part, letting her keep her hurt to herself if that’s what she needs.

“Beckett, ours is a finely tuned partnership and I don’t see any reason to disrupt the balance now. It works so well when you do the paperwork and I do… other things that aren’t boring,” he says as he ushers her the rest of the way into the apartment.

“Hi, Kate,” Alexis exclaims. The girl is standing in front of the stove which holds several steaming pots and pans.

“Hey, Alexis. Sorry to interrupt your dinner preparations.”

“It’s not a problem. In fact, if you could keep him out of my hair for a few minutes, I could actually get this done.”

“Hey,” Castle protests, pretending to be wounded. “I was helping.” As he says it, he reaches over to grab something from the pot Alexis is currently stirring, shoving it in his mouth. Alexis swats his hand.

“Fine,” he says. Turning to Kate, he asks, “Is there something I can do for you, Detective, since my services are apparently no longer required in the kitchen?”

Kate waves the comic she’d almost forgotten she was holding in his direction and he looks worried, like he thinks she’s here to refuse it. She considered it. She knows it’s ridiculously expensive. But she’s getting used to the fact that his idea of extravagant and hers are worlds apart and that this, giving things to the people he cares about, makes him happy.

“You going to let me read the second issue, or what?” she asks.

There it is, that look. She hasn’t even said a proper thank you yet but his pure joy at a gift well received is evident on his face.

He grabs her hand and pulls her after him up the stairs, rushing like a kid toward presents on Christmas morning. She hears Alexis let out a giggle at the display, and then Kate’s taking the stairs two at a time to keep up with him because he’s still got a firm grip on her hand and she’d prefer to stay attached to it.

When they reach the upstairs landing, he pauses in front of a closed door. "Are you prepared to enter the inner sanctum, my own private lair, the Castle Cave?” he asks, his hand on the doorknob and his voice a low, dramatic whisper.

She narrows her eyes. "You should know that I'm finding you extremely creepy right now and I'm still wearing my gun."

"You should know I find it hot when you threaten me with firearms," he counters.

"Yeah, I’ve noticed."

"And you continue to do it. Interesting,” he says, raising one eyebrow. “Though sadly you don't do it as often as you used to."

"Maybe you don't irritate me as much as you used to.”

"Detective Beckett, I am touched,” he replies, raising one hand up to touch his heart.

"Castle, shut up and open the door.” She can’t help the grin that takes over her face despite her feigned annoyance, this routine of theirs a comfortable distraction from the darker notes that have made up the rest of her day.

He does open the door and she pauses just through the doorway to take it all in. It’s a room large enough that it was likely intended as another bedroom when the apartment was built. One wall hosts a row of filing cabinets which she discerns from the labels are home to his comic collection. The far wall houses a large stereo and a widescreen TV hooked up to several gaming systems. She recognizes a PlayStation, a Wii, and an original Nintendo. The other wall is lined with shelves full of games, DVDs, and CDs.

“Castle, this is...”

"Extremely geeky?" he offers.

“Awesome,” she corrects.

He’s in front of her then, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. And she feels the last of the tension from her day leaving her body in response. She’s grown to treasure these moments of childish excitement from him all the more when she causes them.

“Let’s see,” he says, spinning to point at the filing cabinets. He selects a drawer labeled _Marvel, A - C_ and produces _Avengers #2_ which he places in her waiting hands. There are chairs to her right, they sit facing the TV, but Kate settles on the floor and pulls the comic out eagerly.

“Would you like me to give you and the Avengers some privacy, Kate?” She feels a blush heating her cheeks, his comment driving home just how overeager she must have appeared.

"I'm impressed. Even I'm not allowed to read the comics unsupervised." Alexis speaks up from the doorway where Kate hadn’t realized the girl was standing.

"You cannot be trusted," Castle says, turning to face Alexis, his voice softening into that tone Kate has realized he saves just for his daughter.

He’s got a tone like that for Kate too.

"I'm seventeen, Dad," Alexis complains.

"Exactly. It's only been twelve years since you defaced my once priceless, mint condition copy of _Batman #227_."

Alexis sighs in a way that makes it obvious this is a familiar discussion in the Castle household.

"What did you do to it?" Kate asks Alexis, curiosity piqued.

Alexis gestures to the wall above the filing cabinets and Kate stands up to get a better look. The wall is decorated with what she assumes are Castle's favorite or most rare comics. They're framed with a small brass plate at the bottom of each listing the title, issue number, writers, and artists.

What Kate has just now noticed about the issue of _Batman_ that Alexis is pointing at is, though the original cover features Batman hovering over a haunted mansion in the moonlight, a small kitten has been drawn sitting atop the mansion in bright white crayon. The moon has been turned into a sun, all reds and oranges, also clearly drawn in crayon by a child's hand. And next to the mansion, just to the right of a woman who is clearly running for her life from a man Kate would guess is the villain of the story, Alexis drew what appears to be a large apple tree. The plaque below lists " _Batman #227_ , Story: Denny O’Neil, Mike Friedrich. Art: Irv Novick, Dick Giordano, Mike Esposito. Cover: Neal Adams, Alexis Castle."

Kate glances back at the pair behind her. Alexis is leaning into her dad now, his arm around her shoulder and he’s looking at the defaced comic with clear adoration in his eyes.

“It adds a touch of lightness Batman is usually lacking, doesn’t it?” he asks.

Kate feels a rush of affection for this man who values nothing so much as the daughter who is smiling up at him now. Despite his teasing words to Alexis, he is looking at this defaced comic like it’s the most priceless thing in his collection.

Alexis leans into Castle’s shoulder now and, looking up at Kate, says, “What I came to say before we all started admiring my artwork, is that dinner is ready. I made plenty, Kate, if you’d like to stay.”

“I would,” she says, tries not to let herself wonder just when Castle’s loft, and the people who occupy it, started to feel so much like home.

“I promise you can rifle through my comics when dinner is done, Beckett,” Castle offers as they all turn to head downstairs.

 

 **Derrick Storm: Storm Season**

She’s too late for the panel, Castle, the co-writers, and the artist for the Derrick Storm graphic novels promoting the release of _Storm Season_. But she slips into Castle’s line for the signing, remembers being in a line a lot like this years ago before she knew the man behind that cocky smile in the promo photo on his book jackets.

"Who should I make it out to?" Castle asks, grabbing another copy of the _Storm Season_ graphic novel from the stack beside him before he looks up to see who is standing in front of him.

There’s an echo of familiarity here too. This is the second time this year she's shown up at one of his signings with an offering. Last time it was her presence at the _Heat Rises_ signing, an olive branch after an absence that had stretched into months leaving him bitter and her unsure of where they stood.

This time, when she slides a cup of Java Loft coffee towards him, he looks up at her with undisguised warmth. There is none of the hurt that shadowed his face the last time, only understanding and, she’ll admit to herself if not to him just yet, love.

Almost without thought she begins to tug on the sleeve of her shirt, trying to cover the bandage they both know is there. She catches herself and lets go.

He looks tired. She blames herself for those dark circles under his eyes, but the edges of those same eyes are crinkling as his smile widens and she thinks that’s a good enough start.

"Ah, never mind. I think I remember you,” he says, placing one hand on his chin and gazing up at her as if trying to place her. “Kate, right?"

He's been giving her space. Three days since the sniper case closed and she hasn't heard from him once. She doesn’t even have to ask anymore, he steps back quietly and, when she’s ready, she lets him back in. That more than anything convinces her that they’re ready, almost ready, for wherever it is this thing between them is going.

"Long line," she says, gesturing to the crowd behind her. He's already bending his head, scribbling something on the inside cover. "I figured you could use some caffeine and, if I remember, I owe you a few coffees."

He moves to close the comic, pauses, and scribbles something else before reaching out and handing it back to her.

As much as she longs to talk to him, his presence in front of her after days absent reminding how used she’s grown to him filling her days, she knows she can’t stand here holding up the line for much longer.

It shouldn’t surprise her anymore when he seems to read her mind. "I should be done in about a half-hour. Late lunch?" he offers.

She releases a breath.

She’s turned it over and over in her head for months now.

 _“Kate, what are you really scared of. That he won't wait for you, or that he will?”_

Halfway through the line, as she took advantage of the rare opportunity to watch him without his awareness, he pressed his pen to his lips, pausing in thought and then saying something before leaning down to sign that made the fan standing in front of him laugh giddily. A simple gesture, something she’d seen him do countless times before, had caused her heart to clutch then speed up again when she’d realized.

She’s here to make sure he’s waiting.

The woman behind Kate clears her throat, a gentle reminder that brings Kate back to the present and reminds her there’s a line she’s holding up.

"There's an Italian place about a block down on the left. I'll grab a table," she tells him.

It isn’t until she’s seated and waiting for him that she opens the book to read his inscription.

 _I’m thinking a Nikki Heat comic next. How do you feel about spandex?_

 _P.S. Thanks for the coffee, Kate. I needed it._

 

 **Wonder Woman #6**

She bumps into him one afternoon on her way into the comic shop. She’s there to pick up her subscriptions and he has a stack of his own. Once they’ve stopped on the sidewalk outside the building and said their hellos, she reaches for the comics in his hand. He hands them over, allowing her to shuffle through.

“Wonder Woman, huh?” she asks.

“The relaunch is actually awesome. Azzarello is doing a brilliant modern twist on the Gods and Cliff Chiang’s art is amazing.”

“I know, Castle. It’s on my pull list too. I just didn’t think you were the Wonder Woman type.” The March air is just cool enough and she’s standing just close enough to him that she’s sure she can feel his body heat. Her mind wanders to the night of Ryan’s wedding, Castle’s hands strong and warm against her back.

His response pulls her out of her thoughts. “You of all people, Detective Beckett, should know that I am fond of badass women.”

“You just like the outfit,” she says teasingly.

His offense is all for show. “You should know I can appreciate the outfit and the character. I’m a deep man with many layers, Kate.”

“Oh, I realize,” she says in a tone that is anything but serious, though what he says is true. Castle has more depth than just about anyone she’s known. When she thinks about it, despite what she thought of him when he barreled his way into her life years ago, she’s known that since the first time she became lost in one of his books.

“I may have had a Lynda Carter poster on my wall all the way through high school,” he concedes.

She pretends to consider this for a moment, knows the effect her next words will have and wants to savor it. "I was Wonder Woman for Halloween once," she offers in a casual tone.

His reaction does not disappoint. "Are there pictures?" He puts his fist to his mouth, biting down lightly on one knuckle. "Do you still have the costume?"

“Lover of badass women that you are, Castle,” she says, echoing his earlier words. “You should know that you have to at least take a girl to dinner before you can hope to get her in a superhero costume.”

He glances at his watch. Kate knows it can’t be later than 3 p.m. Still he says, “I will take you dinner right now. Where do you want to go?”

“It’s a little early, Castle.” The words follow laughter, bouncing lightly off her tongue.

She sees a flash of disappointment before he schools his face into a lighter expression. And, though the truth is she’s been toppling toward this for months, even years now, later she’ll blame his nearness, maybe the slight flush of his cheeks in the chill air for the burst of bravery that prompts her to say, “But I’m off tomorrow night.”

If he’s surprised, he recovers quickly. “Pick you up at eight?”

They’ve gone out to dinner after work countless times, it has become a habit even. This is different. This is wandering dangerously close to date territory. She’s feeling more than okay with that.

Just so her intentions are clear, as she brushes past him and into the store, she replies, “Eight is good but don’t expect the Wonder Woman costume on our first date, Castle.”

“Second?” he shouts after her just before the door swings closed behind her. She turns to look and sees him standing on the sidewalk, looking in at her with his face almost pressed against the glass of the door to the shop. She can’t hear his words but she can read his lips well enough to understand him as he says, “Third? Fourth?”

 

 **The Adventures of Superman**

Castle’s on an early morning radio show talking about the latest Nikki Heat novel and Kate’s listening on her way to work.

She’s read the novel already, though the official release isn’t until tomorrow. They’re lying in bed together the night she finishes the manuscript, her head resting lightly on his chest and him pretending to read something else but peering at her over the pages in a way that ensures she can feel his impatience even though she’s not looking at him. When she closes the book and tells him she thinks it’s his best yet, it pretty much makes him insufferable for the remainder of the week. But he lights from within when she says it and she thinks that’s worth suffering through several days of him constantly giving her the thumbs up and shouting, “Best yet!”

Probably.

Kate takes a sip of her coffee as she waits for the interviewer’s next question. Castle left early this morning. The bed she’d slept alone in most nights for the past few years now feels a little too large and empty without him. She’d stumbled sleepily into the kitchen to find the coffee still warm in the coffee pot and her travel mug set out on the counter.

She’s resisted at first each step of the way, letting him work with her, letting him into her personal life. And now, letting herself love him, letting him love her back. But each time he waits, ends up fitting, never neatly or quietly, but fitting nonetheless into empty spaces she didn’t know she had.

There’s a caller on the line now, talking about how much she adores his work. Castle thanks her for her support and Kate knows him well enough now to know it’s genuine, this affection he shows to his fans. At Castle’s prompting, the caller launches into her question. "Derrick Storm already has his own comic but what about Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook. If they were comic book characters, who would they be?"

"Superman and Lois Lane," Castle responds without hesitation and Kate grins into the coffee cup she has raised to her lips because she hadn’t thought of it but it’s really pretty perfect.

Castle continues. “Nikki Heat’s got the superpowers and the crime fighting skills. She’s practically invincible though, as we’ve learned in the last few books, maybe not quite as invincible as she thought. Still, she’s certainly tough enough to get by on her own. But Jameson is the civilian with intelligence, skills, and the dedication to always be there to back her up. Like Lois, Jameson tends to get himself into trouble and need rescuing. He tends to rush into things Nikki might think a little more carefully about. But he’s saved her life a few times too and he does keep things exciting. Most importantly, they don’t give up on each other. They’re opposites in so many ways but they compliment one another. And I like to think she likes life better with him around than not. Certainly he feels that way about her. They’re true partners.”

"You follow an actual detective who inspires Nikki Heat, right?” the host of the show follows up. ”Is that true of your relationship as well?"

Castle laughs then, low and deep. "Yes, the real Nikki Heat is definitely my Superman."

Did he just? He definitely did. She slams on the brakes when she realizes her distraction has almost caused her to run a red light.

Not just Superman, which really would have been enough, but my Superman. No hint of possessiveness in his emphasis on the word. A simple statement of fact, the way she says my partner. My writer.

It’s been months together now. And they’ve said I love you; three words that used to stick in the back of her throat when it came to him are just now beginning to fall easily from her lips. And she means them. She’s known he means them for a long time.

But it’s one thing to say I love to each other and quite another to call her his Superman on a radio show with thousands of people listening. Hundreds of thousands? Millions? She has a sudden and irrational urge to pull out her phone and google the show’s ratings.

But that doesn’t matter, not really. Not when he continues to surprise her with his easy affection, his complete openness about his love and admiration for her.

Her protest is all for show when she finds the Superman mug Ryan and Esposito leave on her desk later that morning. She knew they wouldn’t miss this. Honestly, she’d have been a little disappointed if they had. She just rolls her eyes at them and asks them for an update on the financials they’ve been running. They give her the latest as she walks to the cappuccino machine and fills her new mug.

Later that day, she does her best not to smile too widely at Castle when he strolls up to their crime scene, two cups of coffee in hand. (Her mug from Ryan and Esposito is back at the 12th. He’ll see it later and smile at her sheepishly like he’s worried maybe he said too much. She’ll just raise an eyebrow in his direction, take a sip, and return her attention to the murder board.)

She wants to tell him that yes, she does like life a whole lot better with him around than not. And no, she’s not so sure she could do it on her own anymore. She’s at least sure she doesn’t want to. But the precinct isn’t really the place for a serious discussion about their relationship. She’ll bring it up later when they’re curled up on her couch or his, glasses of wine in hand and her feet tucked under his thigh as they try to unwind, talk about anything but the case. Or, if they’re unable to let the case go, she’ll bring it up between the wild theories they bounce off each other until they’re both too tired to keep their eyes open.

It’s not until they’re leaving for the day, the connection she found between their victim and an ongoing smuggling investigation giving them a whole new avenue to explore, that she acknowledges the interview at all.

"Good work, Detective," he says as they settle together in the back of the elevator, feet and bodies moving in patterns choreographed through years of experience. They stand more closely these days, fingers intertwining as the doors close.

"Couldn't do it without you, Lois," she says, leaning against him and nudging his shoulder with her own for emphasis. She doesn’t need to look up at him to know the expression on his face.

“You’ve been waiting all day for that, haven’t you?” he asks.

“I really have.”

The doors open again and she exits the elevator, heading for her car.

He follows as always.


End file.
